Secret
by Umeko
Summary: Maximilien has something to ask Lia, if she will answer him.


Disclaimer: The characters of Le Chevalier D'Eon do not belong to me. Maxmilien-Lia centric.

This is a second-person look into the relationship between Maximilien and Lia. It takes place during the time when D'Eon/Lia was being held at the Duke of Orleans' mansion.

Warnings? Maximilien and Lia making out?

**Secret **

_You have to know._ Lia de Beaumont. Loyal knight of France, member of the Secret du Roi like you once were. Lia de Beaumont, elegant, bewitching, enchanting… Her golden tresses, emerald eyes, rosy lips… An veritable goddess, unapproachable and wise as Athena. How you have agonised in those halcyon days back in Versailles, reduced almost to a tongue-tied schoolboy in her presence. How to speak with her, to confess your undying love… Those shy glances, wary brushing of fingers as you both reached for the same book on the shelf.

_When did it occur to you that she might like you too?_ Her heart was a closed jewel box, a citadel which even Durand had tried and failed to conquer. And Durand was known to half the ladies in Paris. You had had more than one occasion to roust him out of some female's bed before. Rumour had it that a good many noble daughters held a torch for your now deceased friend_. May his soul rest in peace._ Perhaps you mourn his passing still, but now your thoughts are of Lia.

Somehow it happened. In London, you became close. On the ship back home, you came together as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You recall the feel of her hair through your fingers, the soft warmth of her skin against yours, the sweetness of her lips... and you promised yourself never to let go. Ah, you found comfort in her embrace. Perhaps she did so in yours as well. You proposed before the ship reached France and she accepted.

"_I have a younger brother, my only family… he is a knight… I would like you to meet him…"_ she had said as the sea breeze tugged at her hair. You had kissed her and ended up making love in her cabin even as the ship came into harbour. She was so happy then. You were full of plans for the wedding and meeting her family, her little brother who is so dear to her.

_I have met him, Lia…_ you silently say to her. D'Eon de Beaumont sits at the desk, immobile. He looks so much like her. He is young enough to sport almost no facial hair and his features are almost feminine. Her soul has chosen him as her vessel yet she will not speak to you, not since that battle at the abbey, when you had joined forces to defeat Dashwood.

Lia, her body cleaving to yours, warm, fragrant and comforting in that sea-rocked cabin on the journey from London almost a lifetime ago… _"Max, I do believe I have found heaven, and it is here in your arms…" _You remember her soft kisses tracing your wrist as you brushed the hair from her face.

Louis denied you your wish to marry. Then you found the Psalms and fell in with the Revolutionary Brethren. You know things must change… The Brethren wanted a new order… Yet you wanted Lia to be by your side. You contacted her at great risk and even sent her the Psalms. Her rejection in the letter was like a dagger to your heart. _Maximilien, I am sorry._ _I cannot accept your love…_

She was fearful of the power you uncovered in the Psalms. But surely, in her wisdom she must realise things cannot continue thus in France. Even Durand, stubborn as he was, saw that. Yet he chose loyalty to Louis and death, like any loyal knight would. Lia's tears as she begged you not to leave. _Please do not go!_ She was so vulnerable… She is after all, a woman, capable of loving and of great emotions.

_Ah, you miserable man. _Should you have paused then to dry those tears? No, you chose to leave her then… and lost her for good. Lia's body now lies in a crypt in Paris, denied proper burial by both state and church. You shudder at the memory of the helplessness you felt.

The sickening stickiness of her blood on your hands, the glazing of her eyes as the life left her. _Why? You claim not to accept my love, yet time and time again… _With her dying breath, she cried your name. Yet her soul has kept aloof from you…

* * *

><p>The duke and his men have left you alone with D'Eon now. Here is your chance to ask her, if she will speak with you.<p>

You see that there is a bruise on D'Eon's jaw. _Is Lia within hurt? Dare you?_ D'Eon had reacted with fear when you confronted him in London over the whereabouts of his sister's soul. He had tried to strike you. You have to risk it. You gingerly reach out to touch his face.

_Does it hurt, Lia?_ You ask silently. No response. Eyes unseeing. At least he does not strike you, or even shy away. You close your eyes. You are foolish. It is too much to ask. You chose to turn your back on her then.

_Sorry, Lia. _You sense the slightest of touches. That sweet warmth you thought you had lost. You open your eyes. She pauses in the midst of nuzzling your hand and looks back at you through her brother's eyes, cat-like, questioning. Somehow, the ribbon holding back D'Eon's long hair had come undone.

"D'Eon is asleep now," she whispers almost coquettishly. Lia's voice comes from her brother's mouth. _You have to ask. You have to know. _

"Lia, please do not toy with me… I have to know… have you ever loved me…" Your fingers brush against her cheek, no, her brother's cheek. A familiar caress.

"Max, you fool," she hisses angrily. The coquette was gone from her voice. "Do you still not realize?" she rises from her chair. She stumbles. She is weak. D'Eon has refused all drink and food since his capture. Instinctively, you catch her before she falls.

"Maximilien Robespierre, I love you, more than you know…" she almost sobs. "You imbecile! Did you have to turn Durand into a gargoyle or kill Elizaveta? They're my good friends. I should_ hate_ you! But when you almost let Dashwood kill you, I thought I would die again!" she pounds clenched fists against your chest half-heartedly.

"Hush, Lia…" you embrace her. "I'm sorry… I failed you…" Before you can continue, Lia kisses you on the lips fiercely.

"You did not fail me, Max… my dearest love…" she tears off her cravat and throws her head back, offering her throat to your kisses. Your movements become more frantic, yearning for each other's' touch, yet mindful of the need to keep quiet, lest the guards' curiosity be roused. You have her back against the wall now, her fingers clasping in your hair, shoulder…

She brushes against the raw wound on your chest through the cloth of your garments. You ignore the pain, intend on savouring every bit of her exposed skin, inhaling her scent.

"Then why did you hide from me?" you ask between kisses. She freezes in mid-gasp. You stop and look her in the eye. She looks back at you with a mix of fear and shame.

"We shouldn't be doing this…" she firmly pushes you away. She is right. Her real body, the one you had embraced, is now an empty husk. Dead and cold. Her soul is in her brother's body, which you now are embracing. She will not allow you to debase her baby brother.

"I understand…" you oblige her by moving away to allow her to return to her chair. She rearranges her rumpled vest and shirt, re-tying her cravat.

"But you have not answered me yet. Why do you hide from me? Who killed you? Was it the king's orders, or the Brethren? Why are you against my plans with the Brethren? Things in France cannot continue as they are."

"Max, I do not know who killed me. I know things cannot continue as they are. But I have read the Psalms when you sent them to me. I fear that the path you choose will only lead to more bloodshed for France. Dashwood's power may be broken but I fear that we have not changed anything for France…" she ties back her hair, no, D'Eon's hair. Her sphinx-like calmness irks you. You feel that she is playing the coquette again, toying with you like a cat with a mouse.

"You rejected my love once… why? Was it Durand or someone else?" _Could it be? Had she fallen for someone else in my absence?_ Jealousy is an ugly beast. You feel it pacing in the recesses of your heart.

You recall Durand, his easy smile and manner. Many women were drawn by his rakish looks. _Had Lia sought comfort in his arms in your absence?_ Maybe you should have let him bleed out instead of saving… For a moment you hate him.

"There was no one else, Max. You are the only one, always were. Why did you suppose I went to that cathedral? I had my reasons then for writing as I did. Do not bother D'Eon. He knows nothing. Some things, I have to bear alone," her tone is weary now. It is as if a heavy burden rests on her shoulders. You want to share that burden, whatever it is.

"Please, tell me…" you beseech.

It is too late. The shutters have come down over her eyes again. D'Eon sits at the desk. Lia is quiet, perhaps asleep. Still Lia's brother is silent and unmoving. He knows nothing and will know nothing unless she chooses to tell him. Knowing how stubborn she was in life and now in death, she will not willingly share her secrets with you or D'Eon.

You have no choice. Resignedly, you go out onto the balcony to collect your thoughts.

_Lia, I will not bring about change for France, not without you by my side,_ you promise. But the baton will be passed on to someone else. You have had high hopes of Durand once. Now that he is dead, someone else will have to be your successor. Lia will never allow her brother to be drawn into this bloody business.

_Will Lia's soul ever be set to rest? Will you ever be with her?_ You have no answers still.

**Author's Notes:**

If anyone thinks I should have let Lia and Max continue making out despite the fact that Lia is in D'Eon's body, sorry. I do not think Lia would allow D'Eon to be deflowered by her boyfriend. And the fact that she might have been aware of her relationship with Maximilien as half-siblings. Considering that the pair has fornicated after their engagement plans, she is not telling Max about why she rejected him even though she loves him. In 18th century France, incest is not only illegal but a grave sin in the eyes of the church.

So poor Max has to stew for a bit with his doubts.


End file.
